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AMERICAN ANTIQUITIES.—No. VIII.
A Brief Account of the Death of that celebrated Personage, WILLIAM WIMBLE, and of his Last Words and Dying Speech. Extracted from The Huron Gazette and the Superiopolis Advertiser, Number 11,560.
On Friday last, agreeably to his sentence, William Wimble was conveyed, by the Sheriff, to the place of execution. He appeared very penitent. He expressed to the clergyman who attended him a proper resignation to his fate, and conviction of the justice of his sentence. A vast concourse of people, as is usual, attended on the melancholy occasion, in expectation of being entertained by the eloquence of so great an orator. Nor were they disappointed. In the course of his oration, after giving a beautiful narrative of his life and conversation, and offering much good advice to the spectators, he broke out into the following pathetic exclamation: “Oh! I have ventured like little wanton boys who swim on bladders, these many summers, on a sea of glory, but far beyond my depth. At length my high-blown pride broke under me,
This declaration corresponding with official information, a party of the sheriff's men arrested the Sachem and Copper, who are confined in irons, for trial.
At half past eleven o'clock, A. M., Wimble pulled the handkerchief over his eyes, and was launched from the tail of a cart, on his voyage towards that country from whose bourne no traveler returns. His friend, Tweedle, the poet laureate, has composed an Elegy in his praise. A correspondent has favored us with a genuine copy of it, which we offer, with unfeigned pleasure, for the gratification of our kind readers:
Occasioned by the awful and untimely Death of the Honorable William Wimble, who, by the coroner's inquest, was found to have come to his end by suffocation.
1
In yonder dark and narrow lodging,There rests a patriot's body,
Which, after many a slip and dodging,
Death took in safe custody.
2
What though to earth his corse consign'dMust moulder and be rotten;
His name, while it is kept in mind,
Will never be forgotten.
3
O'er him the muse a tomb shall raise,(Or she's an idle strumpet,)
And fame (if she wo'nt sound his praise)
May throw away her trumpet.
4
Mine be the task to celebrateThis hero sly and nimble;
Whose praise shall last, in spite of fate—
Who knows not William Wimble?
5
To fellow creatures he was kind,To brethren, staunch and hearty;
He help'd the weak, and led the blind,
Whene'er he led his party.
6
Nor is it true, what some have said,His kindness did not stop here—
The mean in spirit, oft he fed,
To wit, himself and Copper.
7
Though he was lib'ral, wise, and gallant,As warmest friends could wish one;
'Twas own'd by all, his chiefest talent
Lay most in composition.
8
No one could equal him for style,For art and elocution;
The genius of confusion.
9
His race of ancestors was long—Indeed, it was pretended
His race was young—but that was wrong;
From Gimblet he descended.
X
The heralds prov'd his ancient blood,By race of sire and madam,
Had crept through scoundrels from the flood,
And reach'd almost to Adam.
XI
Two pillars rampant were his arms—A beam, with slender cable,
(I think I've got the herald's terms,)
A cart and coffin sable.
XII
Should man from ills be free, t'were strange,'Twould be on earth a rarity;
So our good hero had the mange,
The itch of popularity.
XIII
He was so courteous and so bland,Throughout the whole dominion;
He shook each lubber by the hand,
And stole his good opinion.
XIV
He shone in many an office fair,By honorable seeking;
The Army, Church, and State, his care,—
A Delegate and Deacon.
XV
Adman, of Congress, asked, thus:“How comes it, Poet Timbrel!
“Your State doth send a fool to us,
“Whose name is William Wimble?”
XVI
The poet did this speech relate—“From honest views, we sent him;
“The fools are many in our State—
“He goes to represent 'em.”
XVII
And yet, though wicked wits kept sneering,'Tis plain as nose in face is;
'Twas only by electioneering,
He got and held his places.
XVIII
So once, upon the Ides of May,When great men quit their spouses,
To Hartford come, in best array,
And sit in both the Houses:
XIX
To take a seat, then, Wimble came,As every man supposes;
But soon 'twas found he'd lost the same,
When they had counted noses.
XX
How strangely does dame fortune frown,How strangely do times alter!
What long ago would buy a crown,
Will purchase now a halter.
XXI
Then straightway evils came apace:By sheriff being cited,
And judges taking each his place,
He stood of crimes indicted:
XXII
Then he, among the goose-cap tribes,With one Joe Copper, leaguing,
With other vile intriguing.
XXIII
Then, forc'd against his will, to standBefore twelve sturdy fellows;
And only holding up his hand,
They all turn'd fortune tellers.
XXIV
Who said, (ah, wonderful to tell!)By what they could discover,
Though now the man was sound and well,
His days would soon be over.
XXV
And so it did this wight betide,Just like to Tyburn's fashion,
Sublime, on two-wheel'd car, to ride,
And make a fine oration.
XXVI
But sad and mournful was his part;He scarce had made an end on't,
When off they drove the two-wheel'd cart,
And left the speaker pendent.
XXVII
Still, as great men to death draw nigher,They rise, and prove they're true wits;
Like Haman, fifty cubits.
XXVIII
Ye statesmen all, so blithe and gay,In life's delusive morning,
Here learn each dog must have his day,
And from this fate take warning:
XXIX
No further seek his faults to learn,No further search his glory—
Our fame, how short! and, mortal man,
Good lack! how transitory!
XXX
Yet shall the foolish folks, for aye,Whose brains would fill a thimble,
Striking their pensive bosoms, say,
“Here lies poor William Wimble.”
N. B.—A few copies of the last words of William Wimble, accurately compiled, and now first printed in a handbill at large, may be had at the Huron Printing Office. Price, one Copper.
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